


En Route

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leslie Knope thinks a road trip is just what her best friend, Ben Wyatt, needs to navigate everything life keeps throwing at him, but hitting the road with him may just throw new curve balls at her. || Contemporary High School AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	En Route

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Parks 3 Prompt Challenge! The three prompts were: amused, sunglasses, and "Move over." Also, side note, this is an AU where Robert Knope is alive.

“ _Les yeux_.”

“Eyes,” Leslie says, “and you’re pronouncing it wrong.”

“ _Le cheveux_ ,” Ben says, ignoring her.

“Hair.”

There’s a pause as Ben takes a Pepsi break. Leslie’s eyes travel lazily over the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of her bedroom. They’re that dull yellow-ish, green-ish color when it’s not dark. Her window is open, curtains pulled apart and the gold afternoon sun is filling her room. Golden afternoon sun is one of Leslie’s top 10 sun shades. It’s hard to beat rising sun or mid-day sun, but it’s up there for sure. 

As usual, Ben is here. He’s always here. There were a couple months when he was never here, but that was in the past and Leslie totally forgives him for it. She doesn’t forgive _her_ , though. However, that’s to be expected when dealing with she demons who break the hearts of best friends.

“Le cou.”

“Neck.”

Ben tosses the flashcards and they land on Leslie’s chest. She smacks his shin. He grabs the next ring of cards -- perhaps colors or time or animals, she’ll have to wait and find out -- and clears his throat before starting up again.

“ _Le frère_ ,” he says.

“Brother.”

“This is insulting, you need to get one wrong.”

Ben pokes her foot and she yelps, kicking his shoulder. They’re lying head to feet on her bed like they used to sleep during sleepovers before Leslie got her period and Ben wasn’t allowed to sleep over anymore. She’s still mad about that. Not as mad as she is that since starting high school, Leslie now has to keep the door open when Ben’s in her room.

“ _Benjamin! En français s'il vous plaît!_ ”

“ _Merde_ ,” Ben whispers. “ _Vous êtes très intelligent et... je n'aime pas_.”

“Stop,” Leslie says, smacking his foot. Her cheeks warm. “You’re only passing French because of me.”

“You’re only passing pre-calc because of me.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Leslie says, sighing. 

“I’m hungry, is your dad cooking?” Ben asks.

“No, there’s that board meeting thing and then they’re going out on a date.” Leslie scrunches her face, sitting up. Her stuffed rainbow alligator, Madame Chomp, is resting on Ben’s chest. “I’m going to need headphones tonight.”

“Gross.”

They order pizza (half pepperoni and peppers, half pineapple and canadian bacon) and Friends plays in the background as Ben tries to get Leslie to understand any of their pre-calc homework. Leslie kicks his ass at French, but she’s barely passing math. Ben even uses all kinds of different ways to explain things to her and it never clicks. It’s incredibly frustrating.

Ben’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, replying to a text message before rubbing his hand over his face.

“It’s late, I should get home.”

“Okay.”

Leslie stands and helps Ben gather his school supplies, scattered around the house like he lives here, too. She throws away their plates and shoves the pizza box into the refrigerator while Ben downs the last of his second can of Pepsi. They walk out through the garage so he can dump the cans into the recycling.

Ben stops in the middle of the driveway, his fingers curling and uncurling at his side. His other hand grips the strap of his backpack that’s slung over one shoulder. Leslie tilts her head, following his gaze, finding nothing but the newly darkened sky.

“I think,” Ben says, “Rebecca used to say made up shit to me to make me think we had some type of connection we never really had.”

Leslie waits, not sure where to go from here. Ben doesn’t talk about Rebecca, not to her anyway. Not ever, not even when things were good. It’s been a month since they broke up, and he decides to mention her now?

“LIke she’d say, ‘I bet we’re looking at the same star right now,’ before we went to bed at night.” Ben reaches in his pocket and pulls out his keys. They jingle with the evening suburban sounds. “I got caught up in that. The weird, fantasy, romance crap. Even then, it felt so fake. It’s not real.”

“What’s not real?”

“Love,” Ben says, with harsh finality. 

Leslie just nods even though she knows that’s not true. Love seeps out of the walls of her house, envelopes the furniture, and crawls into every crack of the foundation. It’s in the piles and piles of scrapbooks in her closet, in those sweet, full moments when the homemade Christmas ornaments come out every year. Love is the taste of every meal her father makes, in the gross kisses her parents share that Leslie runs away from, telling them to stop but also laughing. It lives and breathes here.

“Anyway,” Ben says, “I’ll see you in the morning, doll.” 

Ben raises his hand and Leslie blinks twice before realizing that she needs to slap her palm to his, wiggle her fingers as their hands drift down, pull back fast so she can swing her arm up and back down to meet his hand again. 

“Bye.”

Ben walks to his car and looks back once before getting into the driver’s seat. The breeze has picked up and Leslie finally feels the bite of the night air on her arms and the chill of the pavement under her barefeet. She crosses her arms and watches Ben’s car drive away until she cannot see the tail lights anymore. She hurries back inside and locks the kitchen door and let’s the warmth of her house seep into her skin and heat her from the inside out. 

//

“Can you skip out on going to your dad’s?”

“Good morning to you, too.”

Leslie hands Ben his coffee (his Batman travel mug lives at her house so she can make the coffee in the morning) and buckles her seat belt. She puts her own coffee in the cup holder and unzips her bag.

“I think we should go on a road trip,” she says.

“Leslie, it isn’t even 8 o’clock in the morning.”

He pulls onto the road and Leslie takes out her new binder.

“Good Lord.”

“You’re being a grump.”

“I feel attacked right now.”

He turns up his radio and Leslie swats his hand away, turning the knob back down. There is a definite, “My car, my tunes,” rule in Ben’s car, but she doesn’t care about that right now. It’s like the Post Homecoming Dance Radio Blowout of 2014 never happened.

Leslie opens her binder and flips to the itinerary tab.

“We leave Sunday. I know you are supposed to go to your dad’s Tuesday for a few days, but I don’t think that would be good for you right now,” Leslie says, shaking her head. Ben takes a sip of his coffee. “So instead, you should pushback the visit to the summer, you’ll be well rested and happier by then, hopefully.” The last word comes out in a muffled whisper. “I have a few options for us, planned and routed. Most of these only take five days, but we could stretch it to the full spring break if need be. That accounts for--”

“Leslie.”

“--any kind of mishap. Flat tire, faulty directions, hitch hikers, et cetera. I think we should make a destination decision today. Here are your options, in alphabetical order: Atlantic City, Boston, DisneyWorld--”

“Leslie!”

“Disney World? That’s one of the most expensive choices but I’ve been saving, so--”

“No, no, Leslie, stop.”

Leslie blinks and notices they are at school now, in the parking lot. People walk by, laughing and shouting. It’s the last day before spring break and everyone is in a very good mood.

Ben opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but closes it again, grabbing his bag from the backseat and opening his door. Leslie scrambles out of the car, following him.

“Ben!”

“What, Leslie?” Ben spins around and she almost bumps into him. She grips her road trip binder and looks up at him. Is he growing facial hair now? And his eyes look dark and his eyelids are struggling to stay open. “I have to go to my dad’s, okay?”

“Okay,” Leslie whispers. She holds her binder tighter. “Okay.”

“See you in French,” he says, turning. 

Then he leaves. He leaves even though he’s supposed to buy her a donut on Fridays before class starts at the cafeteria. He leaves even though there’s still twenty minutes before the first bell rings and they usually go find Ann and the rest of their friends under the big tree next to the gym. He leaves even though he usually drops her off at her homeroom.

Leslie sighs. In fourth grade, when Ben fell off the monkey bars and broke his arm, he told her to go away. She was terrified and crying, sitting with Mrs. Penny as they waited for Ben’s mom to arrive. Leslie asked him if she could get him water, if he was okay, if he needed something, if she could get his homework for him, but he only kept ignoring her, telling her to stop, and then finally telling her to leave him alone. The next day, he asked her to sign his cast and everything was the same as it ever was.

When Ben hurts, he likes to do it all by himself. Leslie always forgets until he reminds her.

She throws the binder in the trash and buys herself a donut.

//

Leslie gives Ben his space. She sits next to him in French and they do the conversation exercise that’s on the board, but that’s it. He gives her a ride home but he doesn’t go inside, saying that he has to take Stephanie to tutoring. Which is bullshit, but she lets it go. She does what he asks and lets him hurt by himself.

“Where’s Ben?”

The kitchen is warm and smells like tomato and roasted chicken. Her dad has been grading, cooking, humming, and sipping wine; it’s a Robert Knope super power to do all four at once. Leslie has been trimming green beans.

“He’s being a turd.”

“It’s spring break, what is there to be a turd about?” Robert asks, putting a multiplication worksheet (with a star on it and everything) into the “done” pile. He teaches third grade. 

Leslie tilts her head. “Yeah, so why are you grading?”

“Early bird gets the worm!” he says. “I’m going to finish all my grading by tonight, just you watch.”

He won’t, but with his optimism you’d think he could move mountains, let alone grade papers by midnight.

“He has to go see his dad.”

Robert makes some sad sound of acknowledgement and turns back to his tomato sauce. Leslie keeps trimming and Robert continues to do his four point magic trick until Marlene walks through the door.

“Where’s Ben?” she asks after giving Robert a kiss and ruffling Leslie’s hair.

“He’s being a turd,” Robert says.

“Oh well, boys are always turds,” Marlene says, taking Robert’s wine glass and helping herself to a sip. “Tell him dad is making chicken parm, he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

There’s all these new rules regarding Ben and her bedroom and sleepovers and parties, but Marlene and Robert like Ben just as much as Leslie does. When he’s not around, it’s as if something’s missing.

“I think he wants to be alone.”

Leslie ignores the look that her parents share and continues with her green beans. Robert finishes dinner and they eat around the table, Ben’s seat empty.

“Maybe you and Ann can do something over spring break,” Marlene suggests. “A spa day, maybe. I’ll buy if I can come.”

“Can I come?” Robert asks.

“No turds allowed,” Marlene says, teasing.

Leslie smiles, taking a bite of her chicken. She talks as she chews.

“That would be fun.”

After dinner, Leslie does the dishes and her dad’s grading goes ignored as her parents watch TV in the living room. She doesn’t say goodnight before she goes up to her room and texts Ann about possible spa days and they make other spring break plans to go to the lake and some party Tom and Jean Ralphio are throwing. 

She reads. She watches one of the new presidential race documentaries on CNN. She doesn’t text Ben. He doesn’t text her. It’s like a month ago all over again.

“Hey.”

Leslie looks up and smiles at her parents, her dad’s arm wrapped around her mother’s waist, her mom’s over his shoulders. They're standing in the doorway like this is some teen abstinence after school special. She likes that. She likes how corny they are, because they are more than just corny poses in her doorway or big smiles and warm eyes. They also fight, just like anyone, and her mom gets very loud and her dad gets very quiet and it somehow neutralizes the entire house until they make up. They steal sips of wine from each other’s glass and laugh really hard in the car and her dad always shows up with a camcorder to anything and everything she does.

“We’re going to bed.”

“Kay,” Leslie says. “Goodnight.”

Her dad puts his hand over his chest and tightens it into a fist before opening his fingers and flicks his hand toward her. She catches his “heart” and puts it against hers. He walks out and Marlene takes a step in, alone.

“I just wanted to tell you that all boys are turds.”

Leslie laughs. “Thanks, mom.”

Marlene nods, kissing Leslie’s head. “Imagine having to spend a week with Steven Wyatt, you’d be a turd, too.”

“I know, I know.” Leslie glances at her phone. Nothing. “Goodnight, mom.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

Leslie continues checking her phone and watching CNN until there’s a tap at her window. She jumps, her heart beating in her ears. She pauses the TV and doesn’t move, wondering if a murderer will go away if she just plays dead. The tap sounds again, and another time. Leslie reaches under bed, pulling out the little league bat that Ben gave her when he got too big for it. She walks along the wall up to the window and the taps are now an actual knocking.

“Leslie!”

“Ben?”

Leslie, with the bat still at the ready, walks in front of the window and there is Ben, outside her window, like this is normal. She puts the bat down and opens the window.

“How did you get up here? Are you crazy?”

“Your dad left the ladder out here.”

Leslie works to remove the screen from her window. “Why didn’t you just text me, I could’ve let you in the front door.”

“The floor squeaks right before the stairs,” he whispers as he crawls through the window. He walks past her and closes her door.

Woah. Leslie’s first instinct is to tell him he can’t close the door, but Ben knows that. He also knows he isn’t supposed to be here past midnight (10 on school nights).

“What are you doing?”

“Let’s go,” Ben whispers, kneeling and pulling her purple duffle bag out from beneath her bed. He tosses it onto the mattress. “Can we bring your iPad?”

“What’s happening?”

“I brought mine but it’s so slow, yours is better.” 

Ben opens her closet and pulls out a random assortment of clothes. Leslie grabs his arm and pulls him away from the closet. She can’t imagine a time when she would need her 3rd grade Christmas recital dress; it’s best he just stops now.

“Where are we going?”

“On a road trip,” he says.

Leslie crosses her arms. “I thought you didn’t want to go, you couldn’t miss your trip to your dad’s.”

“I got it covered.” 

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I thought we’d get a good start. No traffic.” Ben looks over her bed and her desk. “Where’s the binder?”

“I threw it away.”

Ben turns and looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“You didn’t want to go.”

“That’s never made you give up before.” He points at her. “One Direction concert.”

“You secretly wanted to go.”

“I definitely did not.” Ben shoves her and she shoves him back and it’s like they’re shaking out whatever happened before. It almost feels normal, now. Except everything about what Ben is doing is not normal. Not for Ben.

“I’ll have to ask my parents.”

“No!” Ben grabs her arm and she stops. “Just leave a note.”

“Are you crazy? My dad will kill you.”

He shrugs.

“Are you alright?” Leslie asks, tilting her head.

“Yeah, come on,” Ben whispers, his hold on her arm tighter. “Please?”

Ben’s eyes have lightened since this morning, they’re their usual deep brown, and he’s shaved and she can smell the mint of his toothpaste and that body spray he wears after gym that smells like something earthy and spicy. His hand slides down her arm, to her hand, and their fingers drift apart.

“Okay,” she says, her smile growing, “let’s go.”

Her parents are going to kill her.

//

Ben insists on taking the first driving shift and Leslie promises she will stay awake with him, but she doesn’t. Radiohead and the movement of the car and Madame Chomp lull her to sleep. When she wakes up, the sun is just starting to lighten the sky and Ben is chewing gum and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

She uncurls her body and stretches, blinking. 

“Good morning, doll. We’re almost to Pennsylvania.”

“Really? I missed Ohio?”

“You’re the only person who would be sad about missing Ohio.”

“It’s a road trip, Ben, we got no pictures of Ohio!”

“Take one now.”

Leslie pulls her phone out and opens the camera, framing Ben driving. It’s a little dark, but she tries to focus on him anyway, and he looks over at her, and she snaps the photo.

“You can’t even tell we’re in Ohio,” Leslie says, yawning.

Ben reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. “We’ll know.”

She leans her head onto his hand and he gives her shoulder another squeeze before he pulls back. He drives, and Leslie anxiously watches her phone, waiting for her parents to call. Leslie isn’t a rule breaker, this may be her first offense ever, save for the time she punched Jeremy in third grade and had to be picked up from school. But she wasn’t punished for that, “He deserved it,” her mother said and Robert could only nod in agreement. Jeremy Jamm said she could never be president because she’s a girl.

Leslie glances out the window and gasps, smacking Ben in the arm over and over.

“The welcome sign! The sign, Ben! Ben! Pull over!”

“We’re on the interstate!”

“Pull over!”

“ _Merde_.”

Ben turns on the blinker and yells for Leslie to stop hitting him and finally makes it onto the side of the interstate, the bumps in the shoulder rattling the car. She bolts out of the car and runs back toward the Pennsylvania Welcomes You sign. The sun has changed the sky from it’s newly blue glow and to yellow as it really starts to rise. Cars whiz by and she points at the trees while Ben yells for her to slow down.

He catches up to her at the sign and a truck honks as it passes them.

“Look at all the trees!” she says.

“New rule, no running on the side of the highway.”

“But we need to take a picture with the sign.”

She walks over and stands under the sign, leaving Ben back by the trees, away from the interstate. His hands are resting on his hips, his chin tilted down like he’s about to scold her. She waves him over, looking up at the sign and back to him. He doesn’t move, but his face slacks a little and his head tilts, like he’s evaluating something. Slowly, as cars drive past, his mouth lifts into a smile, his teeth flashing at her before he drops his hands from his waist and his head falls forward, as if smiling is hard to contain for him.

Leslie claps her hands as he joins her under the sign.

“Yay!”

Ben takes out his phone and flips the camera to selfie mode. 

“Oh no you can’t see the whole sign. Ask someone to take a picture.”

Ben looks around. “Who would I ask exactly?”

“Maybe someone will pull over?”

“No, no. Here.” 

Ben walks forward and places the phone on the ground, propped up against the guardrail post. He takes his time trying to angle it and get it to stay upright. He keeps cursing and his shirt has crawled up his back a little and she can see the pale skin right above his butt. He’s so pale, even in the summer he doesn’t seem to tan. 

“Move over!” Ben yells, waving her to the right. He gives her a thumbs up. “Ready?” he asks.

Leslie yells that she is and Ben runs back to the sign and wraps his arms around her and Leslie laughs as he picks her up. She kicks her feet behind her and she’s not sure when the picture is taken but Ben isn’t holding her right and she slips and he tries to counterbalance them but ends up falling backwards instead.

“Are you okay?” Leslie asks, trying not to laugh. She really is worried, but they did just fall on the side of I-74.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sorry.” Ben’s eyes are closed and he’s laughing, too. His hands fall on her thighs and he moves one up to her waist. It’s then, she realizes, that she’s straddling his lap. “You okay?” he asks, looking at her.

She nods and when he moves beneath her she bites her lip, wondering when his body got so much bigger, broader. He’s still a wiry guy, but it’s different now.

“Let me up?” Ben asks, tapping her waist.

“Oh, yeah, right, sorry.” 

She springs off of him and Ben runs to get his phone and they laugh underneath the sign at the burst of pictures. There’s a few good ones, like the one of her head flying back as she laughs, just as Ben’s body starts to fall backwards. He’s looking at her, though, and holding her, and even though he let her fall, she looks well cared for as she enters Pennsylvania. 

//

“Oh my God, Leslie, you’re okay.”

Leslie holds her phone to her ear, hunched over and trying to block the early morning chill from seeping through her denim jacket. She didn’t pack well for this.

“Yeah, dad, I’m fine.”

“Marlene! She’s okay!”

Leslie can hear her mother saying, “Of course she’s okay,” and something else that she can’t quite make out. Her parents exchange half-finished sentences and then her mom is now the one on the phone.

“Leslie Barbara Knope.”

“Mom--”

“You can’t just leave in the middle of the night, your father almost had a heart attack when he saw your note.” Marlene lowers her voice. “He thinks you’re eloping.”

Leslie laughs and turns back to the big open window of the diner they found. Ben is inside tapping on his phone and doing that thing he does where he keeps his hand on his coffee mug even though he doesn’t intend to drink it at the moment. His fingers always seem to have a slight tremble to them and she watches them shake on the rim of the mug. He looks up at her, as if sensing she’s watching, and his eyebrows furrow and he mouths if everything’s okay. Leslie nods, rolling her eyes.

“That’s ridiculous, mom, I don’t even like Ben -- I mean in that way, he’s disgusting, he doesn’t even look at all like Daniel Craig.”

“Well, your dad doesn’t look like Paul Newman either.”

There’s some shouting on the other end and then Marlene cackles. Leslie smiles, kind of missing them, which probably means she’s the worst teenager of all time.

“Mom,” Leslie says, “it’s cold, can I go back to my waffles?”

“Yes, yes,” Marlene says, still laughing. “But you’re grounded when you come back.”

“What?”

Leslie has never been grounded. Ever.

“You left in the middle of the night, didn’t ask permission, you’re alone with Ben, who isn’t even supposed to be in your room with the door closed, would you like me to go on?”

“Mom--”

“No, it’s done. You’re grounded. So you better live it up with Not Daniel Craig while you can because he’s not coming over for a week.”

“But he tutors me in math!” 

“Nice try.”

Leslie groans as her mom tells her she loves her and the phone gets passed back to Robert.

“Can I talk to Ben?” he asks. 

He doesn’t sound like himself, he sounds very… harsh and cold. It surprises Leslie because she’s sure they were all laughing only moments ago.

“Um--”

“Leslie.”

“Okay, okay.”

Leslie walks into the diner, feeling small and hurt, like she’s shrunk a few sizes from the weight of her guilt. Her dad sounds so… not like her dad and the disappointment is etched in his new, mean voice and it makes her stomach hurt.

“My dad wants to talk to you.”

Ben’s eyes go wide and he drops his phone on the table with a loud smack. Ben shakes his head, but Leslie just pushes the phone toward him until Ben finally takes it and puts it to his ear.

He keeps his scared, brown eyes on her as he says, “Hello?”

There’s a long pause as her father talks. Ben keeps his gaze on Leslie, breaking only to look at his shaking fingers on his coffee mug, but his eyes always return to her. He nods as if her father can see him, swallows so hard that his Adam’s apple bobs along his throat. Leslie’s guilt grows now, wishing Ben didn’t have to be subjected to whatever lecture her father is giving her best friend.

“Yes, sir,” Ben says and it sounds weird, like something Ben says on the phone with his dad, not with hers. Ben has called her dad Robert forever. Not sir or Mr. Knope, just Robert. “Of course, of course.”

Leslie breaks her eye contact with Ben and stares at her hands. She wishes she knew what her dad was saying, what’s going through Ben’s mind. Her stomach twists so much that when her waffles arrive, she doesn’t touch them.

“Did you want to talk to her?” Ben asks, and Leslie looks back up. “Okay, bye.”

Leslie puts out her hand to take the phone but Ben ends the call and places it on the table with such heartbreaking finality.

“He didn’t want to talk to me?”

Ben shakes his head and picks up a piece of his bacon as if he’s going to eat it, but he doesn’t.

“What did he say?”

“Oh, just to make sure you come home safe and to not drive when you’re tired and you know… stuff.”

Leslie dabs her finger into the whipped cream and licks it off. It doesn’t help.

“What kind of stuff?” she asks but she groans and lays down in the booth seat before he can answer. “I’m the worst daughter in the world.”

“Leslie.”

“They’re so mad at me.”

“I know.”

“I’m grounded.”

“I know.”

“We should just go home, I’m sorry, this is my fault.” 

Leslie pushes off the seat, standing, and lifts her hand to get the waitress’ attention. Ben grabs her arm and pulls her into the seat next to him.

“No, we’re not going home.”

He’s still holding her arm, their bodies pressed against each other. Her heart is still beating its anxious, guilty beat but being this close to Ben without warning is making her heart go into overdrive. She’s not sure why, maybe he just startled her by pulling her down, but right now she can smell the coffee from his breath and notice that, although he hasn’t slept in so long, his eyes don’t seem to be as tired nor as dark. He’s also starting to grow a five o’clock shadow on his upper lip and some areas of his chin already, and he has a pimple near the bridge of his nose. And… has his jaw always looked like that? So hard edged and straight and strong?

Leslie’s right, Ben doesn’t look at all like Daniel Craig, but he’s also… cute, actually cute. She knows this, of course, objectively and all, but this may be the first time that she completely agrees with some of the girls who have come up to her and asked, “What is Ben’s deal? Is he single?” Because when Leslie says yes, they always smile and say, “Good, he’s so cute!”

It could be the smell of breakfast food or the sadness of disappointing her parents, but it’s true none the same: she gets it now. Ben Wyatt is cute. Handsome, even.

“Your dad, he said to take our time getting back.”

“He did?” Leslie asks.

“Well, he also said other things, like you’re grounded and I am too even though he’s not technically my dad.” Leslie smiles at that. “Um, but he said to go see the ocean.”

“He did?”

Ben smiles and looks down, finally noticing his hand clutched around her arm and lets go. 

“Yeah, he did. So, we’re going to the ocean.”

Leslie bounces in her seat, clapping her hands. She’s never seen the ocean, not in person, and something about her father giving them a destination plan makes her feel a little lighter. Ben scoots over to give her more room and Leslie pulls her waffle across the table, her appetite back and growing fiercely in her stomach.

Leslie cuts off a portion of her waffle and plops it on Ben’s plate just as he reaches over and places two strips of bacon and a forkful of hashbrowns on hers. 

“What else did he say to you?” Leslie asks, taking a bite of bacon. 

“Oh, uh,” Ben scrunches his face as he cuts into his fried egg. “Nothing, nothing much, just to go to the ocean cuz you’ve always wanted to see it and to be careful, that’s all. Nothing else, just nothing.”

He’s lying. He’s doing that lip, scrunch face shaking head thing he does when he lies. Leslie decides not to push it, that whatever it is, is maybe supposed to only be between Ben and Robert. Maybe her dad just told Ben not to get married while they were gone. 

Leslie looks up at Ben as he eats a forkful of eggs and hashbrowns, sipping his coffee to wash it down. He catches her eye and grins at her.

Maybe she’d marry Ben if they were both 40 and unmarried. But only then.

//

Ben yawns as he digs through the trunk of his car. Leslie shivers next to him, insisting that he doesn’t need to find her another jacket as her teeth chatter. It’s not that she isn’t freezing, but she wants to catch the 9:30 tour.

“Come on, it’s okay.”

Ben snorts and shakes his head, digging some more. 

“I know I have something -- ah ha!”

He pulls out a bright pink hoodie, that looks ridiculously too small for him, and holds it in his fist victoriously. Leslie’s shivers suddenly stop and she tilts her head as she watches him shake it out and turn it towards her.

“Wait, that’s mine.”

“Well, yeah, it’s definitely not my Pawnee Peonies sweatshirt.” 

He holds it out for her and Leslie takes it, looking at the faded stitching of her name on the right breast, her troop number right below it. She turns it over and on the back is the bunch of peonies with smiley faces on them and Pawneee Peonies written in bubble letters above them. 

“I haven’t even worn this since you started driving why is this in your car?” Leslie says, her eyes still scanning the sweatshirt.

“I don’t know, I found it under my bed. Sometimes you forget a jacket so I put it in the car, just in case.”

Leslie’s gaze shifts up to him. He’s wearing his Ray Bans, which Leslie realizes, are making him cuter somehow, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets. Ben tilts his chin up, turning his head away from her and clearing his throat before shutting the trunk.

“I don’t forget a jacket that often.” Leslie pulls the sweatshirt on, it’s a little small but still zips up and smells like the trunk of a car. She puts her denim jacket on over it, warming up instantly. 

Ben laughs, knocking her with his shoulder. She bumps him back.

“You do. You get wrapped up in things and forget to do basic human functions like eating or brushing your hair.”

Leslie puts her hands over her hair, suddenly self conscious. Does Ben think she doesn’t brush her hair? Does it look bad? _Did_ she brush her hair today? She puts her hood on.

Ben yawns again, moaning a little as he walks into her. They stumble together and Ben lays his head on top of hers as they walk. Leslie puts her arm around his waist, supporting him.

“Hotel after this,” Ben mumbles into her hair.

“Okay,” Leslie says. She didn’t think of needing a hotel room. There are closed doors in hotel rooms. Is this what her mom meant? “But first, the tour.”

“Take me back to the Civil War, Leslie Knope.”

Leslie tries not to think of how much warmer she feels with Ben hanging on her and instead tilts her chin up and walks with him into the Gettysburg National Military Park visitor center.

//

The day grows warmer and the sun casts a beautiful light on the park. They take a tour and Leslie pulls off her denim jacket in the middle of it but keeps on her hoodie, even though it smells like stuffy car trunk. Leslie raises her hand to add information or to ask a question, and sometime, possibly after the third eye roll from a fellow tourist, Ben grabs her hand and holds it down. He never let’s go.

It’s not like they never hold hands, they hold hands when they’re walking through an amusement park and don’t want to get lost, or when Ben is being a total wuss and won’t go too deep into the lake and she has to pull him in and he squeezes her hand instead of letting go. They hold hands, it’s just something they sometimes do. 

They don’t usually weave their fingers together, but somewhere in the middle of cemetery, one of them starts to adjust their fingers and the other responds and their fingers are locked together.

It’s not just the hand holding that’s different, though. Ben is beyond tired, he’s almost drunk. His eyes are half closed and he slurs when he talks, but she likes how he smiles a lot. His smile is lazy and crooked and he shows a lot of teeth, it’s different but she likes it. She even likes that he pulls her close when he stops to read tombstones every now and then, and when they walk up to Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address Memorial, he squeezes her hand.

Leslie reads the plaque, but she doesn’t finish it. Ben pulls her forward instead and when he stops them, he walks behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle and pressing his chest to her back. Leslie doesn’t move, maybe doesn’t even breathe, because they don’t just casually hold each other in public. Or in private, or any time at all. They hug and high five and yes, they hold hands, but this?

This is what boyfriends do to girlfriends, and Leslie feels like she’s turned upside down because she doesn’t hate it. 

She finally breathes when his chin rests on top of her head. Leslie takes in the statue, reads a few words from Lincoln’s speech that are engraved in the tablets. Ben turns his head so his cheek is pressing into the top of her head instead and she can feel his chest expand and deflate against her back in slow, calm breaths. He’s going to fall asleep on her. She smiles, moving her hands so they’re on top of his on her stomach and her heart jumps, her breathing stops again, when his fingers move to thread through hers.

“Are you going to sleep?” she asks.

“Mmhmm.” 

Leslie laughs, guilt light on her chest. She probably should stop dragging him around the park and let him sleep, but she loves it here. It’s not very crowded and although this is all formerly a battleground, it’s very peaceful. Sad and inspiring all at once. The sun is warm and the breeze is just right. She can totally understand why Ben would want to fall asleep right now.

“You should read it to me,” Leslie says. She’s not sure if she’s now starting to feel sleepy and lazy, too, or if she is trying to keep Ben awake.

“Read it to you?” Ben asks, picking up his head. “I have this memorized.”

“No you don’t,” Leslie laughs.

“I do, too. You’re not the only history nerd, doll.”

He pokes her stomach and she jerks, cackling. He flies from her and she’s both relieved and sad that whatever sleepy spell is broken and their bodies are now apart. 

Ben walks around to face her, the bust of Abraham Lincoln behind him. He takes off his sunglasses and props them on the top of his head, clearing his throat. His eyes look so droopy, he’s like a sad, sleepy puppy. Leslie needs to get him to a bed or something.

“Ben--”

“Four score and seven years ago,” Ben starts, “our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

His eyes come alive, his chin rising in pride and Leslie tries to bite back her smile. She crosses her arms, nodding for him to go on.

He does, though not perfectly, but she doesn’t correct his reworded sentences or remind him of a line, she just listens. She watches his fist clench at his side and come up, she watches him gesture to the entire field. When he’s done, he bows and Leslie claps, and so does some old couple who were apparently watching. Leslie and Ben walk away so they can approach the memorial. Ben nudges Leslie’s chin with his knuckles.

“Told you I knew it,” his sleepy voice is replaced by a cocky one.

She doesn’t mention his mistakes, only nods and tells him she was wrong. Ben takes her hand again and this time Leslie does the work of weaving their fingers together.

“We can go to the hotel now.”

Ben looks down at her, putting his sunglasses back on. “Uh, we haven’t even been to the store yet.”

“I don’t need anything,” Leslie says, shrugging.

Ben pulls his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, his brown eyes eyeing her over the rim.

“You don’t need anything from the museum store?” Ben asks. Leslie shakes her head. “We’re at least getting you a keychain or something.”

She doesn’t get a keychain, however Ben does buy her a postcard of the Gettysburg Address Memorial instead.

//

Leslie searches her phone for a good hotel, trying to find something cheap enough but also doesn’t look like a hotel from nightmares. Ben tries to say he’ll drive but Leslie’s almost positive he fell asleep on the walk to the car. 

“Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll drive to Philadelphia? I want to see the Liberty Bell,” Leslie says, scrolling through her phone in the driver’s seat.

Ben groans, shaking his head. “No, no, just a hotel here.” 

“Ben, just sleep and I’ll drive us to this… Echono Lodge in Philadelphia.” Leslie scrunches her face and hopes for the best as she books the hotel. “Okay?”

She looks at him in the passenger seat and he’s passed out against the window.

Leslie drives, following the directions on her phone, listening to what she wants to listen to in Ben’s car for once. She’s not much of a driver, she’s not like Ben, someone who actually likes to drive, but it’s nice. The sound of the Spice Girls and Ben’s snoring mixing with the new sights is really, really nice. 

She still misses her parents, is still trying to figure out what it is that her dad could’ve said to Ben. It’s not as if her father hasn’t said things to Ben before. They talk all the time, they’re good friends, or whatever best friends to fathers relationships are called. Also, her dad has told Ben serious things before, too, but they’re usually things about, “watching out for Leslie at homecoming,” or asking if the guy Leslie takes to prom is a, “good guy.” Her dad isn’t old fashioned, her mom wouldn’t allow it even if he was, but he is protective. Ben has always been her dad’s second pair of eyes.

“You’re what?”

Leslie holds her phone to her ear, other hand digging into a bag of chips. She’s at a gas station somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania because she had to pee and the car needed gas.

“I’m in Pennsylvania, with Ben,” Leslie says.

Ann is quiet on the other end before saying, “I thought he was being a jerk.”

Leslie sighs. “He was, but then he wanted to go on the road trip again and I think he’s happier now.”

Leslie decides to ignore the warm, bubbling feeling in her stomach, like she may be the reason he’s feeling better now. That the road trip idea is working.

“Where is he?” Ann asks.

“Sleeping in the car. He was awake for over 24 hours I think, he was acting really… weird.”

“How weird?” Ann asks, almost too quickly and with too much enthusiasm.

Leslie watches Ben sleep, his head bent back between the seat and the car door, mouth open just a little. She can’t see his shut eyes behind his sunglasses, but she likes how his chest rises and falls with each breath. 

“Leslie?”

“Oh, um,” Leslie says, blinking. “He was just tired.”

“But what was he doing?”

“He was holding my hand?”

“Oh.” Leslie thinks Ann sounds disappointed.

“And holding me, kind of.”

“Really?” Now she sounds excited. “That is weird.”

“I think he was just tired.”

Ann doesn’t say anything for a long time and Leslie has to fight from saying more things he’s done. Like smile at her a lot and buy her souvenirs and look really cute in his sunglasses. 

“How was he holding you?” Ann asks.

Ben stirs inside the car, his hand wiping over his face, knocking his sunglasses off. He squints and blinks, looking around the car. His eyes bulge and he sits up, hitting his head. Leslie knocks on the car window and he turns, relief flooding his face when he sees her. She smiles and he falls back on the seat.

“I gotta go, Ann, Ben’s awake. We’re going to see the Liberty Bell! I’ll take a photo of it for you. Or a lot of photos, I want to make sure you see all of it.”

“Just one will be fine, Leslie.”

“Yeah, sure Ann, like that’ll capture the essence of freedom.” Leslie opens the car door and tosses a bag of Funions at Ben and points to the bottle of Pepsi in the cup holder. “Love you, bye.”

“How’s Ann?” Ben asks, yawning and stretching.

“Amazing and perfect as usual.”

“Good.”

“We’re almost there.”

“Okay, babydoll,” he says and then he’s snoring again.

Babydoll?

Leslie wakes Ben when they get to the hotel and he goes with her to the “lobby” (it’s really just a small room with a counter and a coffee machine) to check in. He’s leaning on the counter as she gets out her ID and credit card, writes down her license plate number. Ben is pressed against her side and he is yawning and his sleepy eyes keep watching her and Leslie is very aware of how warm she feels; like her skin is pleasantly on fire.

Ben opens the door to their room ceremoniously and bows for her to enter first and when she walks in, she notices two things: the room smells faintly of cigarette smoke and there is only one bed.

The door closes behind Ben and she turns around just in time to see him take off his sunglasses and toss them on the bed. The one bed. That’s behind the closed door.

“It smells like my dad’s house,” Ben mumbles, rubbing his hair, creating a mess on the top of his head. “I’m going to go ask that guy for a good pizza place to deliver and we can watch bad Pennsylvania television.” Ben pulls out his phone and grins at her. “I’ll be back.”

Leslie looks through her phone while she waits. She considers texting Ann, but she only wants to talk about things she’s not willing to accept are real yet, so instead she texts her mom where she is and that she’s fine. 

_Glad you’re okay, be safe! Plz send me more of these updates._

Leslie posts a photo to Facebook of the selfie she took of her and Ben at the Military Park and after a half hour, she decides to turn the TV on without him. She stays on CNN and takes her shoes off, but doesn’t sit on the one bed. Not yet. There’s a desk chair in the corner that she sits in instead.

After an hour, Leslie texts him. She’s trying to stay calm. Maybe he had to go get the pizza or he is on the phone with his parents or Rebecca or something. No, he’s not with Rebecca anymore. Maybe they want to work something out. Maybe that’s why he’s been so weird today, he misses Rebecca and Leslie is the closest female body. Maybe she called and wanted to get back together and Ben left Leslie in Philadelphia. 

Leslie jumps from the desk chair and pulls the door open, running into Ben. 

“ _Merde_ , I thought you left.”

“Sorry,” Ben mumbles, moving past her. She takes a few steps, following him. The door shuts. “I had to talk to my parents.”

“Oh.”

The air in the room thickens as Ben moves through it. He’s brought their bags in (Leslie’s duffel bag and Ben’s backpack) and he throws a ziplock bag with his toothbrush and deodorant inside onto the vanity. He tosses their bags onto the luggage stand in the makeshift closet and Leslie watches the way he moves. With an angry, apathetic sharpness, that somehow encompases a Ben she knows well. 

A Ben who had a bad try out for the baseball team (he ended up making it anyway), a Ben who has been dumped, a Ben who got a B on an algebra test, a Ben who just came back from his brother’s graduation party, a Ben who has just gotten off the phone with his father.

This feels a little different, though, like he’s mad at her, not at the world, or his dad, or his luck.

“Do you need me to order the pizza?” she asks.

Ben stops, turning his head so he’s in profile, the awful fluorescent light of the vanity glowing behind him. 

“Sure. I forgot.”

He goes into the bathroom and the shower starts. Leslie stares at the bed for a little longer before looking up a pizza place.

//

This is good practice for her. 

Leslie can practice being patient and not being overbearing and letting Ben be left alone. He comes out of the shower, his hair still wet and smelling like artificial lemons which seems to be a theme in the soap around here. He takes the pizza from the pizza girl and he, having no problem sitting on the one bed, plops the pizza down on the comforter and grabs a slice before leaning against the headboard. Leslie eats from the desk chair and texts Ann about Ann’s latest boy adventure. She’s been using senior year as a time to figure out what kind of guy is good for her. It’s exhausting and a little ridiculous, but Leslie is trying to be supportive.

If there was a way to eat pizza in a grumpy way, Ben has figured out how. His eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw his tense and he must be so distracted with his own problems that he doesn’t realize he almost eats the entire thing himself. Leslie’s glad she grabbed her two slices early.

Back when they were young, and Ben wasn’t banned from sleepovers and the door could close if they wanted, Leslie and Ben would have pizza parties underneath pillow forts. Usually, her dad would make the pizza from a store bought dough and a jar of sauce, but it was always Leslie’s favorite pizza. As they got older and everyone seemed to get busier, pizza parties were held in the living room and the pizza was delivered. 

Ben is eating the last slice and Leslie is already full, but she decides to try anyway.

“Remember when we used to have pizza parties in the pillow fort?” Leslie asks.

He closes his eyes, muscles tightening in his neck. She should stop.

“We used to build really good forts.” It’s true, Ben could make any of her wildest fort dreams a reality. “Anyway, we should build one.”

“Go ahead,” Ben says, watching the TV.

Leslie narrows her eyes and pops up from the chair. She tosses the empty pizza box aside and pulls on the covers, making Ben slide down the head board. He mumbles something and stands as she strips the bed and grabs the pillows. Ben plops back down on the bare mattress. What a frickin’ jerk.

Usually Ben was the one with the engineering know how for fort building, but Leslie is going to prove a point. She doesn’t need his grumpy ass to have fun and relive a bit of childhood. If he wants to mope around in a Echono Lodge in Philadelphia the night before they see the Liberty Bell, that’s his stupid choice and she refuses to sit around and watch him eat pizza like he’s been punished to do so.

Except she’s failing. The things she’s using to weigh down the blankets aren’t heavy enough and she can’t make it as tall as she wants because there’s really not a lot of materials here. The chair tips over any time she tries to put a blanket it on it and the pillows are useless. She’s cursing and kicking things across the room but she doesn’t give up. Leslie puts her hair up into a bun and reevaluates before trying again.

The chair tilts back into her ass and she stomps her foot, growling, “Fuck!”

“Please stop,” Ben says and Leslie whirls around to look at him and yell something but he’s smirking. “This is embarrassing.”

“Oh shut your stupid hole, Wyatt.”

He walks past her to the corner of the room, turning and evaluating her fort mess.

“What were you thinking, doll?”

“Well,” Leslie growls, “I want it to stay up.”

Ben scoffs. “No, what do you want the fort to look like?”

“The Capitol Building.”

“Got it.”

Ben builds her fort; telling her how to help and what to grab to make things stay. Her anger dissipates as they work, as she travels back in time. Things still fall but Ben is quick for another solution, his engineering brain mixing with her imagination like it’s supposed to. As Ben tries to balance Leslie’s container of moisturizer in the middle, his phone buzzes. He takes hit out of his pocket, glances at the screen, and tosses it over by his bag.

“There you go,” Ben says, walking around the fort, looking for structural weaknesses. 

Leslie smiles. “Thank you.”

Ben shrugs and Leslie crawls inside. It’s dark underneath so she pulls out her cellphone and turns on the flash, propping it up against the bedframe. It’s tall enough that she can sit up inside of it and she sits cross legged and enjoys the way it feels like she’s camping, just without the fresh air. In this case, the air still smells like cigarettes and she wished it smelled like her living room at least. The campground would be better.

“Are you coming in?” Leslie yells.

“Um, okay.”

Ben sits next to her, reaching around to grab her phone and turn off the light. It’s quiet and Leslie realizes, Ben has turned off the TV. They sit; she can hear his breathing and feel his body move beside hers. He’s rubbing his fingers together, she can hear it.

“Thanks for building the fort.”

“I’m sorry I was being a jerk.”

“I don’t like it when you get in your grumpy place.” 

Leslie feels rather bold and brave in the dark, in her Capitol Building. Some may say she’s too bold and too brave already, but that isn’t always true. She forges ahead instead of focusing on what bothers her, and that’s not really brave.

Ben leans against her, their arms pressing together.

“My grumpy place?”

Leslie nods. “Yes, where you get angry and bitter and hate everything.”

Ben inhales deeply and on the exhale he adjusts against her, moving his arm over her shoulders and nuzzling his face into her hair. Leslie’s heart beats hard and fast in her chest but she tries to take deep breaths to make it slow down. She fails miserably.

“I’m sorry,” Ben says. “My parents--”

“I know, I know.”

Ben tightens his hold on her and Leslie tries to relax into him but it’s hard when she’s so aware. Aware of his jaw against her head, his hand that doesn’t tremble as it seeks out hers, how his body, once again, feels bigger now, stronger even.

“I’m sorry for not wanting to go on your road trip, I’m sorry I went to my grumpy place on your great road trip.”

“It’s okay,” Leslie says, “Well, no it’s not okay, but thank you.” Ben smiles, she can feel it on the top of her head. “But I think Benjamin Walker Wyatts just have to go to their grumpy place sometimes.”

Ben moves and Leslie’s throat closes as she realizes he’s putting her between his legs so he can hold her, chest to back, his arms wrapped around her middle just like when they stood at the Gettysburg Address Memorial. 

“Yeah, that’s why they have Leslie Barbara Knopes, to help them get out of there.”

He squeezes and Leslie holds onto his hands, leaning back against his chest as her body engulfs in electric, numbing flames. She’s so nervous, so overcome with whatever is happening, that her body is struggling to contain it, trembling only slightly, just like Ben’s hands usually do.

His words stick to her skin and sink into her bones. Her throat tightens and she tries not to cry. She’s cried for Ben before, for his awards at Academic Excellence Night, for his wins on the baseball time, and his fury at his father. However, this might be the first time that something he says about her, Leslie Barbara Knope, has brought tears stinging in the corner of her eyes.

She’s here to get him out of his grumpy place, she’s wanted, but she’s also needed. Just like he is to her, her engineer to her wildest dreams, from forts to student body presidential races and emotional rollercoasters.

Leslie takes a deep breath and keeps the tears at bay, whatever it is they might mean. Ben’s hands are big and they squeeze hers before letting them go and sliding them over her stomach, to her hips, and back to her hands again. She’s sure she’s stopped breathing and from the way Ben’s chest isn’t moving, he must have, too.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s only one bed,” she whispers, because that’s the only thing that falls out of her mouth.

Ben laughs, squeezing her. 

“Yeah, we’re not sleeping on that thing, your parents are already fuming about the closed door, probably.”

“We could prop it open.”

“They would want us to be safe.”

Leslie nods seriously. “You’re right.”

They sit in silence, pressed together. Sometimes, Ben’s hands move across her torso again, but nowhere dangerous, but still new. New for them. Leslie sighs and her eyelids fall, her own fingers playing with the hair on his forearms. Is breathing starts to slow and deepen and his face falls into the crook of her neck. It shocks her, yes, but feeling his breath on her skin only lulls her more quickly to sleep.

“Tonight,” Ben mumbles, “we sleep in the Capitol Building.”

//

She takes a lot of pictures of the Liberty Bell and sends them all to Ann, but Leslie’s still worried it won’t capture its beauty. Ben assures her it’s fine and that Ann will love the pictures anyway. 

They drive through New York, which seems like a long way to get to the beach, but to Leslie’s complete surprise, Ben has directions from her father to follow. He doesn’t tell her this, she finds out because Ben doesn’t have his Maps app open, but a text message from her dad with step by step driving directions.

Leslie’s stomach jumps and twists at this discovery. She closes her eyes and turns into the window, away from Ben, squeezing her eyes shut. She’s having a panic attack, or maybe just a million elephants are jumping on her chest, on her throat, on her lungs, and her brain is dizzy from driving or something, something plausible. Instead of the incredibly insane thought that kept her up most of the night, that makes her chest feel too tight, that makes her smile too big.

She’s possibly in love with Ben.

The thought, so much more concrete in her mind as it repeats and repeats and repeats, doubles every time he sings along to Mumford and Sons, and quadruples when he checks his side mirrors before switching lanes. He flicks through his phone and puts on the soundtrack to Moonrise Kingdom and there’s a small, rhythmic movement in his hands that wasn’t there before and Leslie’s heart almost explodes.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ben asks. Leslie nods. “You sure?” She nods again. He accepts it and then does a double take toward her window. “The ocean is that way, babydoll.”

Leslie whips her head around and cranes her neck to look over the road and the grassy hills to find the ocean. Every now and then there’s a glimpse and Leslie rolls down her window to smell the air. It’s fresh and salty, with a touch of exhaust.

By the time Ben finally parks at Kirk Park Beach, she’s bouncing in her seat. Leslie throws open the door and jumps up and down, waiting for Ben to grab his backpack from the car. He bought them some water and cookies (and a pack of baby carrots and an apple, he eyed her as if waiting for her to protest but she didn’t) at the last gas station along with a bottle of sunscreen and is apparently torturing her by taking his sweet time packing them all up in his backpack. He locks the car and takes her in, his jaw loosening and lips forming into a big smile.

“You excited or something?” he teases.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“Go on,” he says, nodding, and she bolts.

She runs up the hill and through the path of wood and sand and new, spring grass. The wind takes her hair and blows it right across her face but she navigates the path anyway, jumping over sticks and rocks, tripping over feet. She doesn’t look back, but she knows Ben is following her, he’s always following her.

The sand is awkward to navigate and Leslie just kicks off her shoes, leaving them behind as she runs toward the water. She can hear Ben shouting and she smiles at his booming voice instead of listening to his words because there is the ocean.

It’s big, it goes on forever, it smells like heaven, and the sun is warm but the breeze is cold. She throws her arms wide as if she’s Supergirl and she needs to absorb the sun to recharge her powers, and runs right into the lapping waves.

She screams, so loud it hurts her own ears and throat to let it out. The water is freezing. She jumps in the waves anyway, hopping toward the shore again. It takes her a moment to find him, but there he is, his backpack on his shoulder and her shoes in his hand, watching her. He’s grinning and shaking his head, his shoulders moving with laughter. His sunglasses are perched on his head despite the sun’s glare, as if he needed to see her with his own eyes, unfiltered.

“It’s cold!” she yells.

“I know!” Ben says back.

He takes out his phone and snaps a few pictures of her, Leslie jumping and posing as the waves hit her calves. She tells Ben to come in but he shakes his head, just like he does at the lake every summer.

Leslie trudges out of the ocean, navigating the sand as she walks up to Ben, who is surprisingly far away. He slides his sunglasses back on his nose, plopping the backpack down.

“You shouldn’t turn your back on the ocean,” Ben says.

“The ocean loves me,” she says, “she wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ben tilts his head. “Even so, it’s better to be careful.”

The metaphor is not lost on Leslie, so instead of thinking about it, she grabs his hand and pulls.

“Come in, the water’s fine,” she says.

“It’s cold,” he responds, just like at the lake.

She pulls and he takes their phones out of his pockets and struggles to get them into the backpack as she begs him to follow her. Finally, he’s protesting half heartedly as she pulls. He laces their fingers together right when the water hits her feet. They both scream but Leslie keeps pulling and pulling until the water is up to her belly button.

“Fuck,” Ben yelps, “it’s cold.”

“It’s amazing.”

Ben grabs her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her to his body. She hugs him back, dipping her head underneath his chin and listening to the crashing waves, letting them hit her as she squeals, and not missing the way Ben’s arms tighten whenever one approaches.

//

The food is gone and her stomach is groaning for more but Leslie hasn’t been able to leave the beach. Not yet.

Every time she gets dry from the sun, she runs back into the waves. Ben has only been back in once, but Leslie lets him sit out now, leaning back with his elbows digging into the sand, watching her wade. She waves and he smiles as she dances around. She likes this image, it’s very them, it’s everything they are.

But the sun is so far down that her pants won’t dry fast enough and the chill is starting to make her shiver. Ben pulls out her Pawnee Peonies hoodie and she pulls it on, hugging her legs. The wind whips at them, sand hitting her face, but she isn’t leaving. Not yet. Not until the last possible moment, and then she’ll give herself five more minutes.

They move back toward the path, keeping themselves as close to the parking lot as they can without actually going there. Ben sets everything down and sits down on an oversized rock and Leslie nestles herself next to him. He doesn’t put his arm around her even though she really wants him to, just sits back on his hands and stares at the sky as it darkens.

“Did you mean what you said the other night?” Leslie asks. The sun is gone now, the park closed but they’ve somehow been left here, like they’re on their own deserted island.

“What did I say?” Ben asks.

She can only just make out a few lines of his face in the darkness. His sunglasses are gone, now propped on Leslie’s head. She tries to think of something else, to move away from her question, but she just says it instead.

“Love isn’t real.”

“Oh,” Ben says. He clears his throat and takes his eyes off the sky, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think so.”

Her heart drops and Leslie shifts her own gaze down.

“I should’ve liked Rebecca,” Ben says. He sighs. “I did like her, but not enough, and there was no reason not to, I just didn’t.”

“Maybe she just wasn’t the one,” Leslie says. She said this on the day they broke up before rattling off a list of names he could try next. All brunette, tall, and gorgeous. Nothing like Leslie. “We’re in high school, you’re not going to meet the love of your life in high school.”

“No, probably not.” Ben rubs his hair and when his hand falls, his arm rubs against hers. “It’s not just that, though. My parents hate each other, and for some reason a long, long time ago, they loved each other. How does that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Leslie says. She doesn’t know, not at all. Her parents are still so stupidly in love it’s like St. Valentine himself lives on their roof. Ben clears his throat.

“And then there’s…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me, what?”

“You.”

Leslie’s heart stops completely, she’s sure of it. The only evidence of it still pumping is that she can watch Ben stand up and turn, facing her. From here the light from the parking lot gives his face just enough glow for her to see his eyes, soft and scared. The wind picks up, sweeping her hair across her face, but she doesn’t feel the chill.

“Me?” she whispers.

He leans forward and takes her hands into his trembling fingers and pulls her up, her feet sinking into the sand. Ben pushes her hair from her face, sliding his fingers under her jaw, holding her.

“You.”

He leans forward, drawing her up to his lips. It’s a soft kiss, so soft it makes her whole body numb. Ben pulls away, nudging her nose with his, and Leslie is the one who takes in a breath and tugs on his shirt to get his lips back on hers.

This kiss evolves into something else; a kiss that’s harder and deeper, one that screams for more. Leslie holds onto his shirt, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer, as if there is anything left between them. Ben’s hands are big and everywhere, gliding along her sides, holding her face and pushing down on her chin so he can kiss her deeper, can taste her completely.

This kiss is new and familiar all at once. New because her lips have never slid over Ben’s, she’s never touched her tongue to his teeth, or felt his mouth hot on her neck. But it’s familiar, too, because she knows the sound of his voice as he whispers her name, the slight shake in his fingers when he pulls her hair away, the feeling of his hair in her hands.

She feels like she’s expanding, growing something deep inside her that is much different than the realization she had last night. Thinking she’s in love with Ben is different than actually kissing, than actually loving him in this absolutely new way. It’s so much more, it makes everything they’ve been through together grow in her stomach, in her chest, in the forgotten scrapes on her knees and the shared meals and sharing a blanket during the fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s everything, absolutely everything.

Their kisses turn lighter, smiles overcoming Leslie’s lips, making their kisses awkward and full of giggles. She tries to breathe again, but every time she seems to get close to catching her breath, they’re kissing again, swallowing oxygen like they don’t need it to live.

Ben slides his hands underneath Leslie’s hoodie, under her shirt, and she moans into his mouth, as if he’s meant to touch her skin her entire life. He opens their mouths and she stumbles back into the rock, his hands exploring her skin, making her back arch and his name fall between their lips.

His thumb brushes the edge of her bra and she gasps, pulling back.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“No, it’s—“

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine, really, I was just surprised.”

“At least you didn’t punch me.”

Leslie points at him. “That was different. That was Bill Dexhart and he deserved it.”

Ben laughs and rubs the back of his neck. His lips are swollen and it makes Leslie miss kissing them.

“We should find a place for the night,” Ben says.

“Yeah.”

Leslie’s radiating heat and electricity and the last thing she wants to do is stop kissing Ben, but she can wait. She can. Maybe.

//

Leslie watches Ben at the small front desk of another not-so-great motel book them a room for two nights. He makes small talk with the man behind the counter and asks if there’s a good place to get waffles. Leslie’s heart is too busy taking flight, flapping its wings wildly into the air, so she misses the answer.

Their room has two beds. It also has a weird table and chairs set up in the corner and a TV that’s older than them. The door shuts.

“Which bed do you want?” Ben asks, dropping their bags.

She doesn’t answer, instead grabbing Ben’s shirt and crashing her lips to his. His body tenses and Leslie is worried this isn’t the right call, but then his hands are on her and he’s backing her into the bed closest to the window. This is the best call.

With her back on the mattress, Ben’s lips travel over her cheek, down her chin, and along her neck. His hands work at her shirt, scooping the fabric up so he can trace the curve of her side and move over the plain of her stomach. He licks his way from the side of her neck to over her throat and kisses her there, his hands roaming over her breasts just long enough for her eyes to flutter shut and her back to arch. Ben’s nails slide down her sides and she gasps, bolting up from the mattress like a woman possessed. 

Ben scans her face, licking his lips. She takes a deep breath and pulls her shirt over her head. Like a bandaid. This is nothing more than Ben’s seen when she wears her bathing suit, but it isn’t the same. For one thing, Ben’s eyes are dark and searching over her torso like he can’t take his eyes off her. She closes her eyes and wraps her hands to her back and unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor.

Leslie tells herself that he’s Ben, her best friend who has seen the best and worst of her. He’s closed his eyes and opened the bathroom door to throw a box of tampons at her. He’s held her hair back when she threw up at Tom’s party sophomore year (not from alcohol, she ate too many brownies). This has to be better than all those times, at least.

She slowly opens her eyes, squinting at first. He’s shirtless too, and his pants are gone, left only in his plaid boxers. He’s a wiry, pale guy, but he has more hair on his chest than she remembers from last summer, and like she thought, he’s bigger. Muscles maybe? Or maybe his metabolism has slowed down? 

There’s also his dick, which she can see pushing against his boxers. That, she’s never seen.

“Leslie,” Ben says.

He doesn’t say anything more, and after two, three breaths, he is kissing her again. 

Ben’s hands are instantly on her breasts, feeling and squeezing. She’s been felt up before, truth or dares and seven minutes in heavens to thank, but this is different. He’s pushing his palm over her flesh, squeezing, and then rubbing his thumbs over her nipples until her body feels like it’s about to erupt. His kisses don’t stop, only fueling them further, making Leslie’s fingers trace his dick over his boxers, making Ben fumble with the buttons on her jeans. She doesn’t really know what they’re doing, how this all works, she just knows that she wants him closer, closer, closer. 

He growls, pulling his mouth away to breathe and moan as she works over him. She loves it, loves the way he shakes and groans from her touch, likes how smooth the skin is when she pulls the boxers down, enjoys that the tip is wet and slides over the head. 

She especially likes how when he moves for her panties, she twists her wrist and his hand falls, body shaking, as if she can distract him enough just with her touch.

“Can you take those off?” Ben says, heavy breaths escaping between words.

“Oh, yeah.”

Leslie lets him go, smiling as he groans from the loss of contact. She slides her underwear off, not even thinking about how exposed she’ll be, and Ben pushes her down onto the mattress. 

“You’re--” Ben says, his boxers gone, “you’re very pretty.”

Leslie’s now very aware of how naked she is, how she’s sprawled on this motel room bed in front of Ben Wyatt. She tries not to look at herself, but look at Ben instead. His eyes are focused and dark, looking her over and his lips slightly open, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth like when he’s doing homework. Her own eyes are taking him in, how small and narrow his waist is, the hair below his belly button, his smooth, hard dick. 

She wants him, she wants him closer, as close as possible. She opens her mouth to talk, and they speak at the same time.

“I’m on the pill.”

“I don’t have a condom.”

They laugh and Ben crawls onto the bed, over her body.

“I know you’re on the pill, I just didn’t know if you also wanted--”

“It’s okay, birth control is good.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Leslie is thankful when his mouth falls on hers and they kiss again, her hands exploring his naked, narrow body. He has bones sticking out of his shoulders and on his back, there are muscles in his arms, and his ass is flat and perfect. Their hips rock and she can feel his cock moving against her hip, sliding between her legs but not entering her. It feels good, she keeps rolling her hips, chasing the feeling, arching her back so his hand goes to her breasts again and again. 

He’s groaning and shaking above her, and after their hips move too perfectly in sync, he holds her hip down with his hand and moves away, replacing his fingers with his mouth over her breast. He sucks and licks, circling her nipple and biting the flesh around them. Her hands are in his hair and Ben’s fingers snake their way up the inside of her thigh until he’s touching her. Tracing her, teasing her, making her wiggle underneath him in a way that makes him smile against her nipple. He pushes over her clit and she gasps, rolling her hips to feel him do it again. He does, does it a lot, slides down along her opening and lines her there and comes back to her clit. 

It all makes her feel so warm and like she’s floating. Like she’s in the ocean, but the water is warm so she can go under the waves and float along the surface. A calm ocean, one she’s familiar with, like the lake.

Ben moves his hand and Leslie gasps moaning and turning her head into a pillow to muffle the sound. He leans down and nudges her nose so he can kiss her, and when he does his fingers move and it feels good -- holy hell, everything feels so good -- it’s not the same feeling as before. So she grabs his wrist, moves him up and to the right just the smallest bit and --

“There,” Leslie whimpers.

“Feels good?” Ben asks.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t move from there, doesn’t even speed up or put more pressure on her and it is causing every nerve in her body to buzz with electricity. Each circle of his fingers makes the voltage go higher and higher until she’s shaking and yelling his name. He doesn’t stop, only kisses her lips or her neck or her earlobe, his fingers moving on her with precision and focus that only Ben has.

Ben nips down on her bottom lip and she goes still and quiet as her body supernovas into a whole other galaxy.

Leslie clutches at Ben’s arms, pushing him away, the feeling too much. He moves away as her muscles pulse. She reaches for him, craving him, and he kisses her, sliding his body back on top of hers, her hips responding to his weight quickly.

“You smell like the ocean,” Ben says, burying his face in her neck, inhaling. “ _La mer_.”

Leslie grins, correcting him (“That’s the sea.” “Same thing.”), leaning her chin back so he can get more access to her throat, her collarbone. He takes the opportunity, nips and sucks his way along her neck. Their hips move again, not always perfectly, not always in sync, but it feels good regardless.

“Did you do this with Rebecca?” Leslie blurts out.

This should kill the mood completely, but somehow it doesn’t. Ben only smiles along her neck. She’s mad she doesn’t know anything about him and Rebecca, this is something a best friend would know. 

“We did… a lot… not this.. Not what we’re about to do.” Ben lifts his head, looking at her. “If you want to do it, I mean.”

“I do,” Leslie says.

“Me too.”

Ben reaches between their bodies, holding himself in his hand. Leslie watches him stroke, once, twice, mesmerized by his long fingers over his dick. He moves, pushing himself just where she wants him and she takes in a breath, exhaling as slowly as she can. 

Leslie thrusts just a little and Ben does the same, matching her. He’s stretching her and it’s a welcome pressure so she moves again and he matches it and they do this until she’s full. Until they’re completely connected.

“Good lord,” Ben breathes. His arms shake. Leslie smiles, a little scared, a little excited. Leslie rolls her hips up again, moaning. Ben lets out a shaky breath, gripping the blanket by her head. “I’m so sorry for how short this will be.”

“We’re here for two nights,” Leslie reminds him.

Ben kisses her, hard, and moves his hips. He thrusts hard and fast and it’s incredible. Like she’s eating waffles on the beach and watching the clouds move. Like she’s in Ramsett Park on the first day of summer and the ice cream truck drives by. Like she’s screaming, face painted and sign in hand, for Ben to hit a homerun. Like Ben is fucking her, like she’s in love with Ben and he’s fucking her.

Leslie lets her arms fall to the mattress above her head, and moans, lets his name slip from her mouth, and watches his face soften and scrunch, his hips moving and their bodies smacking together. It hurts a little, it’s slightly terrifying, but mostly amazing. Perfect.

//

In the morning, they try again, and this time Ben lasts much longer as Leslie sits on top of him, her hands in her hair and Ben’s hands on her hips. 

Leslie orders waffles at the small restaurant and Ben orders the denver omelette, taking two cinnamon rolls to go. Ben gets a terrible sunburn around the collar of his t-shirt and his nose while Leslie splashes in the waves. They kiss. They kiss on the sand, they kiss in the ocean, they kiss on the trail, on cliffs, in the restaurant where they get dinner.

Ben kisses her between her legs that night, for so long Leslie is sure she’s ascended to the heavens and back by the time he lifts his head. She stands on shaking legs and asks if she can do the same for him and he says, “Yes, in the morning,” and they have sex on the floor.

She does kneel in front of him in the morning and he kisses her after, tongue and all, and Leslie is sure she’s in love with him now.

They plan to make the drive in one day and it works. Leslie drives the first half and they stop for gas and junk food, taking a five minute break to kiss against his car. His fingers move to places they shouldn’t, not in public, but she smiles into his kiss anyway.

And it’s there, at a random gas station in west Pennsylvania, Ben’s lips tasting like her memories of the ocean and Pepsi, that he says it.

“I love you.”

Leslie takes a step back, children crying in a minivan and cars whizzing past on the highway. Ben’s eyes slowly grow, horror developing in them quickly.

“I love you,” she says and his face brightens again.

They’ve said this before, but not entirely this way. Not with the I in front of it, or with a full rounded out you. It’s usually “luv u” in texts of “love ya” with voices, but nothing like this. However, it wouldn’t matter if they’ve said the full sentence before anyway, this time it’s completely different.

Ben drives the rest of the way home, the sun descending and the familiar highways and streets unrolling before them. Ann sends Leslie a video of her dancing and screaming upon learning that they’re together and she dangerously shows Ben as he drives. He smiles and grabs her hand, kissing her knuckles. Leslie sends Ann a video of Ben driving, whispering, “He loves me,” as he drives.

Leslie opens the door of her house, hoping her parents are still awake, sitting on the couch and drinking wine and holding hands. They are awake, but not on the couch, instead sharing a carton of ice cream in the kitchen. Leslie missed them, incredibly, but she’s also terrified for how disappointed they’ll be.

“There she is, our little runaway,” Marlene says.

Ben walks in behind her and Leslie feels like she needs to shield him, as if they’ll know just by looking at them. They shared a bed. They were in a room with the door shut. They had sex.

“And the other one,” Robert deadpans, but Marlene cackles.

Leslie smiles, too, scared and relieved. Then her mom comes out of the kitchen and hugs her and Leslie melts into the embrace.

“How was the ocean?” Robert asks, hugging her next. He even shakes Ben’s hand.

“Amazing!”

“She wouldn’t get out of the water,” Ben adds, still stiff behind her but thawing out a little.

“No, it was beautiful.”

“You were in the water?” Marlene asks, taking Leslie’s bag.

“Yes!”

“It’s cold,” Marlene laughs. “You’re just like your father.”

Robert winks at Leslie and she smiles, reaching for Ben’s hand before thinking better of it and letting her hand fall back to her side.

“Kirk Park Beach is the only place to go,” Robert says. “Glad you followed my advice.”

Leslie looks back at Ben, eyebrows furrowed.

“I sent him pictures,” Ben says, embarrassed.

She’s not sure how she feels about her boyfriend -- holy macaroni Ben is her boyfriend -- having an open text message relationship with her father. They’ve texted before, but this… oh no, things are going to be different.

Before Leslie can go down a spiral, Marlene invites her to the living room because they taped a speech Elizabeth Warren gave for her and they’ve been waiting for her to get home to watch it. She looks back at Ben and he shrugs before Robert says, “You too, Ben.”

Everything is just a tad different, Leslie wants to hold Ben’s hand or cuddle into him, but she’s afraid to do so with her parents in the room, but the scene is no different. They watch the TV and comment, and Leslie claps and cries, and when it’s over they all stand up and Robert declares bed time for everyone.

“Thanks for letting me watch the speech. I’ll see you all in a week, maybe?” Ben says, shuffling awkwardly in their kitchen as Robert makes himself a glass of water.

Leslie wants to kiss him so bad on his stupid mouth.

Marlene and Robert look at each other and Marlene squeezes his arm before walking up to her room.

“Why don’t you sleep here tonight, Ben? It’s late.”

“But I’m grounded,” Ben says.

“Me too?” Leslie says.

“It can start tomorrow. It’s late.”

“But Ben can’t sleep over.”

“Not in your room, no.” Robert turns to Ben and tips his chin down, eyes serious. “Not in her room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Robert smiles, chuckling a little before slapping Ben on the shoulder. Ben coughs, swaying.

“Please, sir is my dad. Just because you’re in love with my daughter doesn’t mean you have to call me sir.”

Leslie’s eyes go wide and Ben’s cheeks rouge. He knows? How does he know? Maybe they really could tell just by looking at them. Leslie checks the zipper on her jeans and her hair as if she’ll find the clue.

“Leslie, grab him a blanket and he can sleep on the couch. Goodnight, you two.” Robert steps up to Leslie, kissing her on the forehead and giving her a hug and whispering, “He asked me for permission, your mother would’ve puked. I love you. I’m glad you’re home.”

Robert goes up to bed and the door shuts behind him.

“You asked permission?” 

Leslie’s skin pleasantly warms. It is old fashioned, and she’d date Ben without her father’s permission like a real rebel who goes on road trips in the middle of the night, but it _is_ sweet.

“I did,” Ben says, shrugging. 

“You sneaky bastard,” Leslie whispers, sliding up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Also, I thought it was better to tell him before we got back.” Ben kisses her. “I think it was the right call.”

Leslie laughs. 

“Yeah.”

They make a makeshift bed on the couch and Leslie tucks him in but he pulls her down on top of him before she can leave, kissing her deeply, their hips moving and hands tangled in each other's hair. She’s not there for long, both of them afraid they’ll get caught, but when Leslie stands up, Ben sits back on the couch, extending his hand.

Leslie slaps her palm to his, wiggles her fingers as their hands drift down, pulls back fast so she can swing her arm up and back down to meet his hand again. Instead of drifting apart, though, they cling to each other until Leslie steps far enough away that their fingers snap apart.

“ _Bonsoir_ ,” she whispers.

“ _Bonsoir mon amour_.”


End file.
